


A Conflict of Interest

by squire



Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Assassin AU, Crack, Fluff, Identity Porn, Lightside!Ben, M/M, Romance, Sniper!Hux, Teensy Bit of Angst, bluffs and double bluffs, plans within plans
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-10
Updated: 2016-06-12
Packaged: 2018-07-14 06:48:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,645
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7158107
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/squire/pseuds/squire
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for the lovely @theriseofthefirstorder over on Tumblr as a part of their art/fic exchange. Their prompt was: Assassin AU. </p><p>Featuring: Secret identity shenanigans, bluffs, double bluffs, sniper!Hux, vigilante!Kylo, beautiful Naboo sceneries, evil Snoke and two people in love.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Assassins and Politicians

**Author's Note:**

  * For [wyr_d](https://archiveofourown.org/users/wyr_d/gifts).



> Beta'd by the incomparable Ariane DeVere, whom I can never thank enough. I try, though. Thank you, Ari.

**Part 1: The General and Kylo Ren**

The Crolute is dozing, his fat eyelids drooping, when Kylo Ren enters the luxurious private room. He manages nothing more than a scream before Kylo slices his throat open. The heavy, lax body drops back into the bath where it’s been soaking in water infused with Crul-imported salts, now quickly turning an appalling shade of pink. 

Kylo wipes off his blade on the towel and looks around the child slaver’s apartment. The safe is built into a nearby wall - small mercies. Kylo drags the whole bathtub across the expensive carpet, pink, rancid water sloshing everywhere, and deposits it in front of the safe. Two small sticks of explosives should be enough to crack it open and destroy everything inside. Kylo arranges the body so that it’s leaning against the safe, its mushy flesh a soft pillow to muffle the imminent detonation. It will be messy once the time fuse goes off but the apartment could use redecorating anyway. 

When he leaves, the guards are still standing by the apartment door, staring dazedly in front of them with glassy eyes. 

“You saw no one come or leave." 

"We saw no one come or leave,” they repeat in unison. 

Kylo is mounting his speeder parked two blocks away when the time is up. He can hear the distinct wet smacking sound of the explosion even across the distance.

 

*

 

The man calling himself The General is on his second cigarette when his target finally appears in the crosshairs, stepping onto the busy streets of Socorro capital flanked by his bodyguards. He can see them checking the surrounding rooftops, well trained as they are - though they aren’t prepared for _him_. 

The General exhales, his hand tightening on the familiar long range rifle. He adjusts the wind correction, checks that the line of shot is clear, takes an unhurried and careful aim and fires.

A single shot, custom-silenced - not that anyone would be looking for him on this roof, more than half a mile away from where bodyguards and passers-by now flock around the dead body of Gannis Ducain, a former gunrunner, very rich, very cautious, very well protected, and yet still not enough. 

The General dismantles his rifle methodically and leaves by a pre-arranged route. Ducain was a swindler extraordinaire; his demise will be chalked up to pretty much every one of his conned business partners.

 

*

 

Kylo Ren walks through the cantina door in a town whose name should not be spoken in polite company and immediately zeroes in on the boxes in the back. There he is. Already waiting. Kylo grins behind his mask. 

One of the reasons they keep meeting in places as dank and dirty as these is that nobody here is going to ask any questions when you order a drink and sip it with your mask still on - just like the General is doing now, the black half-mask leaving only the lower part of his face uncovered, pink, full-lipped mouth and perfectly smooth chin. Kylo often wonders what the colour of the General’s hair is. If it’s something extraordinary, or an inconspicuous and average colour - bland like the rest of him. 

Boring grey clothes, simple black headpiece, not a speck of dirt on him - the man is just as clean as his jobs, and clearly not prone to view his work as fun. 

“Had fun on Socorro?” Kylo asks deliberately, by way of a greeting, as he slides behind the table opposite him. A mouth tightened in a scowl is his reward. 

“It hit the news two hours ago,” he explains and waves off the waitress. He never drinks when on a job - and by now, he considers _this_ as part of the _fun_ that comes with the job - his own mask doesn’t allow for that. 

“And here I feared you’ve been stalking me,” the General sneers. 

Kylo folds his hands under his chin. “And why, pray tell, would I do that?" 

"To learn some technique,” the man replies haughtily and Kylo snorts. The vocoder implanted into his mask transform the sound into an electronic crackle. Under the tiny table, he presses the side of his knee into the General’s thigh.

 

*

 

The General loathes Kylo Ren. Utterly despises him. How anyone in this line of work can survive with such a reckless approach is beyond him. Kylo Ren is big, hulking, brutish and overly dramatic. His mask is a strange contraption - it hides his eyes, nose and mouth, transforming his voice into an impersonal, vaguely threatening sound, but it leaves the sides of his face exposed, showing off an ugly scar that runs from the base of his jaw across the right cheek and ends heavens know where under the mask. 

They first met in a bar on some planet whose name they’ve both forgotten since, both just after jobs and instantly drawn together, the way a predator recognises its own kind. The General thought at first they were going to fight - until Kylo Ren had backed him into the wall, pushed him to his knees and introduced him to his cock - and the General realised that for all his dislike of Ren’s personality, there was something about the breadth of his shoulders and strength of his arms that was making him want to suck his cock very much. 

Since then, it became a sort of routine. It’s the only indulgence he allows himself on this job. In his weaker moments, he can admit he has a thing for Ren’s huge hands and the way they feel around his cock. They never have much time - a quick blowjob, an expert handjob, and on one memorable occasion, he had been fingered against the wall with his legs wrapped around Ren’s waist - but they make the most of it. It’s inexplicable, their need for each other - he’s pretty sure Ren looks down on his work too, their modi operandi too different, their conversations nothing more than a series of barbs and insults. They have never seen each other naked, never seen the whole of their faces - and he doesn’t mind. If anything, it’s an added thrill - he keeps imagining Ren’s mouth and in his fantasy, it’s good for many more things than just talking. 

Because talking, that’s one thing about Ren that the General could do without.  

“Old Ducain was a big shot,” Ren says, one hand spanning half of the width of the General’s chest, fingers rubbing his nipple through the fabric, and the other hand making short work of his fly. For some obscure reason, Ren seems to think that talking shop counts as foreplay. “I heard that he was running supplies for the Resistance lately. Swindled them one time too many, heh?" 

The General goes a little cold inside. Ducain’s dealings with the Resistance should have been - and must remain - a secret, because they were the exact reason why the First Order had demanded his death. He bats away Ren’s hands and starts at his trousers instead, changing the topic at the same time. 

"That Crolute on Haidoral Prime, that was you?" 

Ren is never one to turn down a chance to boast. "Recognised my style across two quadrants. I am impressed." 

"Smelled the bloodbath across two quadrants, more like. They had to scrape him off the walls for a positive identification, do the words ‘clean work’ ever mean anything to you?" 

Ren braces his hand against the wall next to the General’s head, and even mechanised by the vocoder, his voice has a distinct breathy quality to it. "I like to spell my name in blood." 

His cock is already hard - always so eager - and the General gives him a few good pulls. There’s something he could be asking too - the Crolute was a useful contact of the First Order in that quadrant and his untimely demise is an unwelcome news. 

"I wonder who wanted to off the old fish. It’s not like slavery is _illegal_ on Haidoral Prime." 

Close to getting off, Ren is always more talkative than usual. "Rumour has it that he’d made some shady deals on Nar Kanji,” he pants and tries to push down on the General’s shoulders.   

He resists, keeping the touch teasing. “Hah. Pull the other one. As if Tasu Leech would ever hire someone as expensive as you. Besides, you’re too dramatic even for Kanjiklub." 

The scar on Ren’s face is contorted - the man is grinning. "Tell that to Kanjiklub.” And this time, when he pushes him to his knees, the General goes, full of grace and greed.

  
  


**Part 2: Senator Amidala and the Ambassador of Jelucan**

 

“Your Excellency, the morning post has arrived." 

Hux beckons the aide in with a wave of his hand, without tearing his eyes from the report he’s drafting. The young official puts the stack of envelopes on his desk and leaves unobtrusively; a perfect man for his job. 

Hux doesn’t know why people in diplomatic affairs still insist on using paper and hard copies for their correspondence but that’s just another one of the oddities of life in the hidebound, old-line New Republic. He puts aside the draft once he’s satisfied with it and sorts through the little pile of post, immediately singling out a letter wrapped in expensive, nacre-coloured paper - the like of which he’s never seen before. 

A formal invitation to the annual diplomatic summit of the New Republic and Affiliated worlds. To be held on Naboo this year. Hux has heard that Naboo is very lovely. The more pity he’ll have to decline. 

As the Ambassador of Jelucan, he’s a very busy man. The world he represents is poor and outcast, deep in the Outer Rim Territories, the quality of life of its people hanging precariously on flimsy trade agreements with the Republic, with its heavy mining industry severely cut down by the embargos and bans that the demilitarisation brought in. Hux is doing his best to alleviate the economic depression, putting the - admittedly small - weight of his position into promoting trade, enticing new settlers to Jelucan, and organising fundraising actions to the benefit of Jelucan schools and hospitals. He can’t do much - not with the budget he has to work with - but he commits to the task with his usual zeal. 

The summit would just be a waste of his time. Well-heeled Core Worlds representatives and the new rich from the Mid Rim, milling around and not giving a fuck about the impoverished territories below their edge of recognition. Hux hates empty socialising anyway. 

"An incoming communication on the official com channel, sir." 

Hux thanks the aide and answers the call. The greyish face of the Jelucan Secretary of Foreign Affairs stares at him from the holoscreen. 

"Hux! Dear boy!” The man is always unbearably cheerful. Hux suspects he’s doing it to mask his uneasiness over calls like this. “I assume you’ve got your invitation to the Naboo summit?" 

Oh. So that’s it. Higher orders. Hux nods stiffly. "Indeed I have, sir." 

"Good, good.” The Secretary turns his head to the side, as if listening to someone off screen. His face is drawn, nervous. 

“Your original schedule for the time of the event will be taken care of, don’t worry. Go and…have a good time." 

Hux refrains from snorting, though the corner of his mouth twitches. He hopes that his hologram on the outdated Jelucan com screen is too grainy to reproduce it. 

"I’m sure I will, sir,” he replies evenly and disconnects the call. The Secretary being so vague means he’ll get more detailed instructions on Naboo. 

He looks out of the window into the yellow cloudy skies of Hosnian Prime and mentally calculates the current season on Naboo. He’ll need to take his summer dress uniform out of the closet.

 

*

 

Senator Amidala narrows his eyes at himself in the mirror and adjusts the position of the stone sitting closest to the corner of his right eye. He lifts his eyebrows experimentally. The movement pulls at the skin under the glittering appliqué but none of the tiny stones fall off. Good. 

Contrary to what fashion magazines like to gossip about, he doesn’t enjoy dressing up. It’s a waste of precious time that could be better spent with actual work - even though it’s true that the actual work of a senator resembles idle gossiping more often than not. Politics is not done by well-honed speeches on the dais in front of the half-dozing Senate, but in small, one-on-one talks in the backstage, in offices’ anterooms, in private alcoves during grand galas, away from the show. But Senator Amidala, along with his assumed name, also assumed the tradition and the responsibility to represent. And represent, he does. 

Moreover, it would be odd if the senator of the hosting world didn’t show up at the welcoming gala. His grandmother would roll in her grave. So he gets up from the vanity table, squares his shoulders, tugs at the lapels of his coat so that their nonchalant fall over his chest is utilised to maximum effect and, satisfied with his reflection, he makes his way down three flights of stairs of the ancient palace into the great dining hall.

 

*

 

Hux is rarely in the wrong. Just this once, he wishes he had been. This summit truly is a waste of his time. 

The instructions awaiting him upon arrival were nothing more than a vague “Keep your eyes open and make new contacts.” But it seems that none of the present dignitaries is keen on making acquaintance with a man from Outer Rim whose dress uniform, though well-fitting and inspection-worthy, is still dreadfully out of fashion. Hux takes a sip from his glass of nectarwine and tries to subtly adjust the high collar of his jacket. The summer on Naboo is in full swing and the dining hall feels stuffy and hot. 

A gust of fresh air caresses the nape of his neck as he passes one heavy, ceiling-to-floor brocade curtain, and he realises that instead of a window, this one hides the opening to a terrace. Nobody notices him slipping out and he’s glad for the short relief. The night is warm but not as oppressive as the air inside, and for a moment Hux just breathes, watching the tree crowns and rooftops of Theed awash in the light of two moons high in the sky, the third on the rise. The sky is a rich dark blue, only a handful of the brightest stars visible over the combined shine of the moons. It’s blessedly peaceful. 

“Lovely, isn’t it,” a deep voice rumbles behind him. 

Hux whips around and the first involuntary thought that crosses his mind is _Yes, you are_. The stranger, outlined with the golden glow of curtain-filtered light from the hall behind him, is indeed striking in his visage. Tall and broad enough to make Hux’s mouth go just a little bit dry, dark waves of hair swept back from a narrow, long, pale face, with its odd beauty accentuated with what Hux at first thinks to be a tattoo, winding up both cheeks and sprawling under dark eyes and over high temples. Then a stray beam of moonlight catches the side of the stranger’s face and Hux startles at the red hue - it almost looks like a bleeding wound - and then he realises that it’s in fact a myriad of tiny precious stones, reflecting the light in flares of deep red, sticking to the skin in an intricate pattern resembling the scales of a dragonsnake. 

“My apologies,” the stranger says, voice as warm and soft as the night sky. “I disturbed you." 

Now that he’s looking slightly to the side - embarrassed? apologetic? - Hux recognises him. He’d seen this unmistakable profile in the files he’d been studying. It’s Amidala, the Naboo representative in the Senate. A man of high profile in the society, the heartthrob of the Republic. The type of man Hux shouldn’t associate with lest he attracts a lot of unwanted attention. 

"The fault is mine,” he says quickly. “I was just on my way back–" 

"No,” Amidala interrupts him, now definitely sounding a bit awkward. “I’ve interrupted your moment of reprieve and for that I am sorry. I came here… on the same purpose. To have a breath of fresh air." 

"You?” Hux lifts his eyebrows. He can’t help it, he’s intrigued. 

Amidala joins him at the balusters, setting his own glass next to Hux’s. A small, bashful smile is playing around his full, dark-coloured lips. “I’m afraid my public image flatters me, your Excellency. Social gatherings tire me rather quickly." 

Of course Amidala, as one of the hosts of the party, would be obliged to recognise him. 

"Please, call me Hux. At least while we’re here, hiding from the crowd together,” he adds, voice light on the joke. 

“Then you must call me Ben.” Amidala shifts a little closer. Hux chances a sideway look at him - the long line of neck, sharp vee opening of his coat showing off the see-through, close-fitting shirt dotted with gemstones stretched tight over his chest… on second look, Hux realises there is no shirt. The gemstones litter the bare skin the same way as those on his face. He snaps his eyes back up to find Amidala - Ben - watching him with an unreadable spark in his dark, black-lined eyes. 

“I noticed you earlier at dinner,” the Senator says, voice low. “You have been… really standing out to me." 

Hux stops himself from automatically running his hand along his unusually coloured hair, a nervous gesture he reverts to whenever he forgets himself and starts to feel self-conscious - a useless habit, a weakness he should have got rid of years ago. 

"Not that,” Amidala adds quickly, and then “–though I do admire your hair–” as an afterthought, and then he finishes: “I could see you hated it there." 

"It was not my intention to appear ungrateful or disrespectful,” Hux says, feeling a prickle of annoyance. His grasp on self-control must have been slipping lately. 

“Be assured you didn’t.” Amidala puts a hand on his arm, a gentle, placating gesture. Hux can feel the heat of his palm through all his layers. 

“I merely noticed because… I felt the same." 

Hux isn’t quite sure why he does what he does next, but he lays his hand over the Senator’s and runs his thumb up the soft side of his wrist. The pull he feels towards the man is both metaphorical and physical, Amidala - Ben - leaning closer as if drawn by an invisible string, his beautiful lips parted slightly, inviting, irresistible. 

 _Make contacts_ , Hux recalls his instructions and thinks, _might as well get started now_.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The fic is finished and the next chapter will be posted within the next few days, if the fickle gods of internet connection are with me.


	2. General Hux and Ben Solo

If you'd asked four year old Ben Solo who he wanted to become one day, the boy would've waved his wooden sword around and exclaimed, "A Jedi wike Unca Wuke", of course. 

If you'd asked the same question to fifteen year old Ben Solo, the boy would've looked at you with tired eyes and replied that he hated the Force, the Galaxy, and his own genes in particular. But off to the Jedi Academy he went, because what other choice did he have? 

At twenty three it was clear that Ben Solo would never become a Jedi. Not that there wasn't enough Light in him - there was simply too much of _everything_ in him. Years of days spent in meditation trying to achieve a peace of mind that would get shattered and drowned every night in dreams of destruction and blood. No Jedi could help Ben to fight his demons. He'd had enough clarity of mind to leave the Academy before anything disastrous could happen. 

He did not share his mother's campaigning, paramilitary views but he had enough of her blood to be drawn to politics. He'd established himself on Naboo where the locals welcomed him as the grandson of their once much beloved queen, he'd learned how to hide the fury of his soul behind a façade of ceremonial make-up and lavish robes, he'd created the persona of Ben Amidala - a smooth orator, a non-extremist politician, a man of delicate tastes and shallow opinions, a man whom everyone knew and no one wanted, not truly. 

Kylo Ren is the rest - everything of him that Amidala isn't. Ren is bloodshed and explosions, offerings to appease the raging demons inside him. He hates that he can't hate himself for it enough to stop doing it. He'd negotiated with the demons - his targets are always people the Galaxy is better without: slavers, abusers, child molesters, spice dealers, human traffickers. People with enough enemies of their own so that he can drop vague hints afterwards, naming this and that gang of criminals, no one suspecting the fact that Kylo Ren is not for hire. 

He knows that his mother worries about him. He knows that Uncle Luke wouldn't look him in the eyes if he met him. But every once in a while, his old friend Poe Dameron would visit, dropping on his desk a list of names - discovered spies and supporters of the First Order who also happen to be horrible people - and leaving it there with an awkward pat on his shoulder. It's as close to anyone accepting his dark side as he's going to get.   

 

*

 

Cadet Hux of the First Order had had his life outlined before him: graduation from the Academy, service in the fleet, aiding the Order in its inevitable victory over the Galaxy, eventually coming out on top of it all. 

He wasn't expecting to be called in front of the Supreme Leader the very day he was accorded the rank of general, to be given a secret mission instead of a ship. A refusal would've been his downfall. So he'd accepted it. 

Decades after the fall of the Empire, the small world of Jelucan was in a desolate state. Heavy mining and development of industry under the Imperial rule had brought them both economic and population growth, but all that turned to shambles after the newly hatched, unsteady New Republic took over. The fledgling structure had no power, no means to sustain order in the Outer Rim Territories. All they did was ban the mining of kyber crystals, Jelucan's only source of wealth. 

As a result, the Jelucan government secretly began to sympathise with the rising First Order. Their right to maintain a permanent diplomatic representation on Hosnian Prime gave the First Order the perfect opportunity to insert a spy directly into the heart of the Republic. 

Hux prides himself that he's actually a very good ambassador. Between gathering information that could serve the First Order and organising dissent within the Republic, he always finds time to genuinely work towards the improvement of Jelucan's poverty and isolation. 

But all that is very... strenuous. Thousands of menial tasks can wear out a man rather quickly. And Hux, being nothing but effective in every waking hour, had found the perfect way to unwind. 

He'd always scored the best marks at the shooting range. 

It was meant to be his secret, at first. He grew frustrated with a certain man - a former Imperial officer who turned coat after the change of wind and made a comfortable life in the Core, mostly at the expense of many former comrades, now scraping rocks in exile. Official channels were short on him - the man's public conduct was flawless - so Hux had taken his rifle one day and dealt with the problem himself. 

He half expected to be reprimanded for this personal vendetta. He didn't expect to be sent extra funds and the name of his next target. Since then, the General has worked with the direct authorisation of Supreme Leader Snoke.

 

*

 

Kylo is loitering on the busy street of this dirty town, half-hidden in the shadow from the cantina sign. He wrapped up his last job several hours ago and now it's time to have _fun_ \- except, for the first time in a long while, he hesitates going in. 

The night he first saw Hux on the terrace of the Naboo palace was like a dream. He'd never met the man before and yet he felt drawn to him like a comet to the sun. Ben Solo doesn't believe in reincarnation but in this, he supposes he could give the idea some merit - it's as if they knew each other from another lifetime, they fit so perfectly, so effortlessly. After their first kiss, Ben knew he'd never tasted those lips before and yet it felt as if he had always yearned for them, as if the kiss had sated a thirst that he didn't know he suffered.     

They ended up leaving the party, together and in secret, hospitality be damned. Ben had led them through the small door at the end of the terrace and up the servants staircase into his bedroom, and Hux had followed with a sort of raw desperation, like a man starved and yet afraid of eating too much at once. 

They kept meeting and sneaking away every day of the summit, their bodies slotting together like long-time lovers and not the near-strangers they were. It was true that Hux had been exactly Ben's preferred body type - tall, reedy, and with wiry muscles - but Ben was starting to think that he'd be attracted to Hux no matter what his looks were. They spent hours just talking - Hux had some fascinating insight into the life in the Outer Rim and Ben found that Hux's genuine grudge against the social discrepancies within the Republic was something he could identify with. By the end of the week, Ben realised he was falling for Hux - and falling hard. 

That was two weeks ago. Every day since then, Ben is trying and failing to come up with a way he can visit the Jelucan Embassy in his Amidala persona without attracting herds of journalists wherever he goes. 

He had almost forgotten about the General. Hells, he had almost forgotten about Kylo Ren. 

He's not sure a man like Hux would ever spare a second glance for Kylo Ren. Maybe that's why Kylo Ren still wants the General.

 

*

 

The General is onto his second drink and wonders why he agreed to this in the first place. It's not like he _needs_ to see Kylo Ren. Except that... he does. 

He’s not sure what he was meant to accomplish on Naboo. No further instructions ever arrived, and the only acquaintance he’d made - and oh, how well they became acquainted - turned out to be of little practical use. Amidala usually votes with the majority, misses out on half the sessions, and doesn't have any influential or radical friends. Politically, he’s insignificant. 

Privately, though... 

Hux sweeps his palm over the pocket of his shirt. Nestled inside like a talisman is a tiny red gemstone. He'd snatched it off Ben Amidala's chest the first night in his bedroom, when he was still thinking he'd had too much nectarwine and that his self-control would be back to its old levels again in the morning. Every time he looks at it he's reminded of the way the stones glittered in the low light while Ben moved in his lap, head thrown back, long neck bared, gems sparkling on his skin like droplets of lifeblood. 

Ben Amidala is everything Hux shouldn't ever want. Incredibly vain - wouldn't let Hux touch the ever-present make-up decorating his jaw, cheeks and the bridge of his nose, lamenting the time it took to put it on, even though it had made certain bedroom activities rather challenging. Incredibly spoilt - Hux has never felt anything as smooth as those sheets against his skin. And yet... Ben is fiery and compassionate, with some unorthodox private opinions (and wasn't that a surprise, when Hux recalled the man's rather lukewarm performances in the Senate) and all the time spent with him, Hux didn't want to think about how much he was going to miss him. 

The reality is harsh. There is no excuse for Hux, the low-paid ambassador of a meagre Outer Rim planet, to make regular visits to the Naboo Senator's office and private quarters. He watches Amidala's speeches in the Senate on the holonet broadcast and tries to ignore the ache in his chest. 

When he gets the brief coded message from Ren - just a time and place, as usual - he knows he should feel relieved. A part of him is - the part that misses broad shoulders under his palms and a partner so tall that he can get a thrill from looking up to them - but that is only a very small part. 

Obviously not small enough to keep him from waiting in this cheap cantina and wondering what's taking Ren so long. 

Finally he spots him, a silhouette in the doorframe, black shape against the white daylight on the street. His heart skips a beat at the sight and he frowns at himself - he _hasn't_ been missing Ren. That incredibly built body - body of a melee fighter, nimble on his feet like a swordsman – but with hunching shoulders, sloppy posture, and heavy tread that really casts the pall on the overall impression. How much better he would look if he carried his spine with pride, how much his natural grace would shine if he wasn't wrapped in layers upon layers of leather armour and dirty, blood-stained wool... No, Hux won't be thinking of that. He won't be tormenting himself by comparing what he has to what he cannot have. 

And yet - as soon as Ren sits down, his stupid mask braced with his fingers as he supports his chin and just stares at Hux in silence - Hux hears himself blurting out: 

"I hate you." 

The vocoder crackles and Ren's shoulders jostle a bit. He must have laughed. 

"I know." 

It's not the reply Hux has been expecting and so he presses on: "I do - I hate everything about you. Your ugly mask and your creepy voice and your sloppy style of work and your smelly rags and most of all I hate that I still want you." 

There's a long hissing sound - Ren's exhale - and then the man says simply, "Good." 

"Let's go somewhere private," Hux says, defeated by himself, and gets up to lead the way.     

 

*****

Ben wakes covered in sweat and sits up with a jolt, panting for breath and eyes wide in horror. His ears are still ringing with the screaming of billions - in his mind, he can still see people burning, cities turning to ash, whole planets exploding under the ray of concentrated sunlight. And behind it all, he sees the face of Hux - _his_ Hux - but older, paler, sterner, standing on a frozen planet-weapon, resplendent in a general's uniform, flanked by First Order banners, face contorted with intense hatred, eyes wild with satisfaction and power....

A voice is still whispering in his head - a soothing, gentle, infinitely old voice, echoing with ageless wisdom, thrumming with infinite power - _this is what will come to pass if you don't stop him._

 _No_ , his soul rebels. He doesn't want to kill the man he can't get off his mind. He can't kill the only man who ever seemed to love him...

_He enjoyed Ben Amidala, not you. And he's a spy for the First Order, why do you think he's been so in favour of you?_

Ben wants to repress it, wants to write it off as a nightmare, wants to beat the voice into silence - but deep inside, he knows that this voice - whoever it is - is right. It's a Force vision, and the Force cannot lie.

It was too good to be true, his Naboo dream. It's like in the stories of star-crossed lovers - the kind of stories that only ever end in bloodshed. He wonders if Hux ever felt something for him, or if it was all just a well played spy game. He picks up his blade, runs a finger along the edge, wills his anger to be just as sharp, just as unforgiving.

To think he'd almost wanted to do away with Kylo Ren... that he'd believed, even for a week, that he could be the _whole_ of himself with Hux.

This will be the first time Kylo Ren strikes on Republic territory. There can't be a mess - someone might have noticed them on Naboo, Amidala could face unpleasant prosecution. Hux will have to disappear quietly and without a trace. Ben thinks, briefly and wryly, of the General. That man would be unbearably smug if he knew that Kylo is finally going to learn some professionalism.

 

*

 

Hux is about to leave his embassy office when he's notified of the incoming call on the special channel - the one that's reserved for direct communication with the Supreme Leader.

The hologram is small, scaled to fit into his office, and yet it feels larger than life. Eyes that never reflect any light regard him thoughtfully, the Supreme Leader's presence somehow tangible even across the distance.

"You have been performing well, General."

"It's my duty to the First Order, Supreme Leader."

"I am glad to hear your loyalty does not waver."

A chill runs down Hux's spine. Does Snoke know about Amidala? Could that be considered a treason?

"You have... befriended Senator Ben Amidala, I've heard."

Hux nods stiffly and forces himself to wait.

"Perhaps you will be surprised to learn that the man who passes himself off as Senator of Naboo is none other than Ben Organa-Solo, the son of the head of the Resistance..."

"... General Leia Organa," Hux finishes mechanically, feeling his insides turn to stone. So that's it. That's why someone like Amidala was – could ever be – interested in someone like Hux. It's all been a sham.

Snoke is speaking again."The window of opportunity given to us is unique. The death of her only son will crush Organa, and if done right, the assassination can be blamed onto the Republic pacifist wing which will further weaken the support the Resistance receives from them."

Not a muscle in Hux's face twitches. He's eerily calm."Ben Solo will be taken care of, Supreme Leader. I won't disappoint you."

The hologram dissipates, the line going dead, and Hux feels a little dead inside. He takes out the rifle from its hiding spot. It fits into his arms like a long missed comfort - the only lover that should ever belong there, he tells himself. Then he puts it back, and takes out the small, customised blaster instead, and a wide belt with two vibroblades. Amidala - no, _Solo_ \- had got close to him. A clean shot from a distance feels too impersonal. Hux spares a thought for Kylo Ren - that man would laugh himself silly if he knew that the General is going to get his hands bloody.

 

*

 

The night is thick and cloudy over the capital of Hosnian Prime, the low clouds lit orange from the never sleeping cities below. The damp from earlier acid rain is clinging to Hux's gloves, slick and rank, as he makes his way across the back garden of Amidala's residential building. He's just about to pull himself up the low wall separating the stony terrace from the lawn when the large patio door leading onto the terrace slides open and out of the darkened house steps a black-clad, masked figure.

For a moment, they stare at each other, and all Hux is capable of thinking is _Snoke didn't trust me to kill Amidala, he hired Ren first_. 

And then rage swells up in him, and the blaster jumps into his hand faster than thought. _He_ should have been the one to kill Amidala, it was _his right_ –

Ren throws out a hand and the blaster bolt freezes mid-air. Hux blinks in shock. It's a fraction of second he loses but it's enough for Ren to leap across the whole width of the terrace in one giant - humanly impossible, Hux's frozen mind registers - jump and knock him off the wall and into the grass.

The bolt hits the wall, sparks flying. The white flash frames Ren's hair in a wild halo as he looms over Hux, hands around his throat, thighs pinning his arms to the ground, full weight on his chest, and snarls through his mask:

"Who hired you?"

Hux spits, throat too constricted for words, and brings his knee up and hard into Ren's back. Ren grunts and shifts his weight lower, adjusts his grip on Hux and frees one hand to pat down his pockets. As if he could find anything there...

He does. What's visible of his face goes slack with confusion as he stares at the small red stone in his palm. Hux doesn't even know how it was still in his pocket but he feels the grip on his throat falter and seizes his chance at once, kicking out, arching his back, throwing Ren off and rolling them over, one of his vibroblades pressed against the hollow of Ren's throat.

"Hux?"

The voice is so breathy that the static of the vocoder almost drowns out the single syllable, and yet Hux doesn't doubt he'd heard correctly. He presses on the blade. This is a secret he can't allow to come to light.

And then he feels his own hand caught in an invisible grip, immobilising it, a single droplet of blood is sliding down Ren's throat - like the red stones dotting Amidala's skin, milky white in the Naboo moonlight - and Ren is pulling off his mask and repeating, over and over:

"Hux! Hux, it's me."

A big hand slides gently under the edge of his mask and pulls it off, Hux too stunned to prevent it. He feels fingers running through his freed hair, and hears the voice he'd been moaning for in his dreams breathe out, soft and bewildered:

"It really is you..."

The grip on his hand is gone and Hux lets go of the blade. It drops into the damp grass, edge still wet with blood. Hux rolls off Ren - Amidala - Ben - he can't keep track of it anymore - and starts laughing.

Next to him, sprawled on the rain-slick lawn, Ben Solo joins him.

 

*

 

"So..." Hux begins once he calms down enough to speak, testing the words on his tongue, as if speaking them aloud could somehow burst the bubble of surreality he's found himself in, "... Ben Solo is Kylo Ren."

If Ren is thrown by the use of his real name, he hides it quickly. "The very same. And the General..."

"Aren't introductions a bit of a moot point now?"

"They are, _General Hux of the First Order_ ," Ren bites off the words. He sounds accusatory. As if he had any right to be. He had deliberately kept his true identity hidden - twice over - and Hux had been doing the same - and Snoke's revelation still weighs heavily on Hux's mind, but Ben's eyes up close are amber clear and the touch of his fingers on Hux's hair is dazed and reverent and yearning and Hux can't, doesn't want to believe that their week on Naboo wasn't real.

He sits up and looks for his blaster. It had been knocked off his hand earlier - now he recalls the way his shot had frozen in the air and chuckles.

"Didn't know the Force could stop blaster bolts."

"You don't look very surprised," and there's a hesitant inquiry behind the observation. And something else too, almost like... shame? Why would anyone be ashamed of having such power literally at their fingertips?

"At you having the Force? No, not anymore. It's part of the reason I've been sent to kill you. Supreme Leader Snoke hates the Jedi."

Hux doesn't know why he's telling him this. He should just carry out his order and be done with Ben, with Amidala, with this whole farce. And yet... something is off. Something about Kylo Ren going out tonight, in the Republic territory where he never works... Hux wants to hear the whole story.

"Snoke? You said Snoke?"

".... That must have slipped out. Are you Force manipulating me into telling the truth?"

"No!" and now Ren sounds almost offended. "But... the Force vision that told me you're with the First Order was sent to me by someone who called himself Snoke. He spoke of... I can't describe it properly. Hux, I... I trusted him. But if he's the leader of the Order–"

Hux feels the betrayal like a stab into his guts. It all makes terrible sense now. Snoke had used his loyalty - his years of service - all his potential - just to get himself a new apprentice. He can see similar realisation dawning on Ren's face.

"He played us off against each other..."Hux says, low and heartsick.

"To keep the stronger one of us," Ren finishes.

Hux smiles wryly. "You think I had any chance against a Jedi?"

"I'm not a Jedi," Ren says, the same offence in his voice as before. Hux doesn't understand it. "And I've seen you in that vision, Hux. You were... older, and so full of hatred for the Republic, as if it was your personal enemy. You killed billions just because they lived here..."

Hux is taken aback. "Billions?" That's not how one conducts war. Civilians are important - you need people to rule after your victory. "I hope you understand that I can't exactly _love_ the Republic when the only one I ever trusted in it has turned out to be a Resistance spy."

"I'm not with the Resistance," Ren mutters.

"You keep telling me what you're not," Hux barks out. "All that remains is saying that you're not an assassin for hire."

"I'm not," Ren protests, and Hux laughs at the absurdity of it. "And you are not an ambassador either, Hux, are you?"

"Part-time. Your political duties don't seem to take up all your time either, do they, _Senator_?"

"Fair point," Ren huffs and thumps his head against the grass. "Fuck, Hux, are you really a general of the First Order?"

"Don't make it sound as if we were some kind of a terrorist group! Our regime makes life in the Outer Rim actually bearable! What about you, moneybags? Are you really the son of the head of the Resistance?"

"Look, I haven't seen Mother since I was fifteen, all right? But she fights for democracy, and freedom, and even if I can't stand being in the same organization as her, I won't go against her."

Hux wraps his hands around his knees and looks at the orange sky.

"That makes us enemies, you know. Real ones. Not just professional rivals. Not just political opponents. I should kill you."

Ren glares up at him."As should I. Do you want to?"

"Give me a minute. Haven't decided yet." The part of Hux still hurting from the betrayal really wants to sink his blade into something but a larger part of him wants just keep on sitting here. Side by side with Ren. "So how are you not a Jedi with all the Force?"

"Well... " Ren sighs and the ashamed look is back. "I was going to be. It runs in the family. My uncle tried his damnedest to make me into one but I was just too... whatever. Light Side just wasn't enough to keep me. And when the Force had shown me the crystal meant for a lightsaber of my own making, it was red. I thought I was going to be like my grandfather. But the crystal was cracked, and when I first activated it, it exploded in my face. I took it as a sign that Dark Side wasn't meant for me either."

Hux turns and lifts a hand to the side of Ren's cheek. The scar there is deep. It must have been a pain to cover it day by day, wearing make-up and jewellery as another kind of mask. Ren leans his face into Hux's hand.

"A reminder," he says quietly. "Of what is dark in me."

"I'm in love with an almost-Jedi," Hux chuckles, shaking his head. "I'm screwed."

"You're the one to talk! I'm in love with a sworn enemy of everything my family stands for!"

Hux can't stop grinning. "Are you really?"

Ren's face softens. "In love with you? Yes. Are you?"

Hux kisses him.

 

*

 

The damp and chill of the night is starting to seep through the material of his outfit but Ren just snuggles Hux closer to himself, utterly content. For the first time in his life, he doesn't feel torn apart. He loves, and it's neither a pull towards the disappointing, unfulfilling Light, nor a pull towards the terrifying, soul-swallowing Dark. He feels whole, anchored in Hux, not on either side but perfect.

"What now? That's an impressive herd of cats that got out of the bag tonight," he murmurs, pressing a kiss into Hux's hair.

"Well, we could still try to kill each other..."

Ren snorts."Stay with me fifty years or so and it will happen naturally."

Hux lifts his head and squints up him. "What kind of a fucked up proposal was that?"

"Oh, my mistake. Allow me to do it properly."He lifts himself on his elbows and gives Hux a solemn look. "Hux, will you defect with me?"

It's Hux's turn to snort. "To the Resistance? Over my dead body."

"How many times do I have to tell you I'm not with the Resistance?"

"Where then?" Hux looks genuinely upset. The realisation that Snoke's been using him so carelessly had been a heavy blow, Ren can see that.

And then, he has an idea."We could make a living out of the assassination business. For real, this time. And I can think of our first target."

Hux's eyes darken."You mean Snoke."

Ren nods. "We should take down Snoke, yes. See what we will do from there. Together?"

Hux takes his hand and links their fingers."Together."

**Author's Note:**

> Find me on [Tumblr:) ](http://sinningsquire.tumblr.com)
> 
> And this fic now has fanart! Everyone go and have a look how beautifully @squintly drew [Senator Ben Amidala](http://squintlysays.tumblr.com/post/145935608421/okay-so-i-read-sinningsquires-fic-a-conflict-of) :-) I am in contiguous awe with the generous and amazingly talented artists in this fandom.


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